


Welcome to John Winchester doing Heterosexual Things

by johnwinchestersteeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Crack Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Homophobic John Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, but this is just a garbage fire, i used to be ashamed of this story but then the finale aired, idk i'm using all these tags like this is a real story i worked hard on, so i don't feel bad anymore, sorry about that :/, teeth are mentioned an uncomfortable amount of times, the author is gay so no offense to heterosexuals i guess, the supernatural fandom will eat shit and thank the writers for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:34:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwinchestersteeth/pseuds/johnwinchestersteeth
Summary: John Winchester sure is heterosexual. In fact, he's so straight, that if you looked up 'heterosexual' in the dictionary it would just be a picture of John Winchester (it's a picture instead of his name because, as we all know, heterosexuals can't read). Join John as he gets up to the usual shenanigans involving murder, ghosts, and teeth, that the straights all know and love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 54
Kudos: 45





	1. Rat Smasher

_This is bad,_ Dean thought. John shoved his entire fist into sixteen-year-old Dean’s skull. Blondie screamed but John tore out his vocal cords.

“NO GAYS ALLOWED IN THE CLUBHOUSE!” John roared. After a pause, he added, “No girls either. Only boys in the clubhouse. But it’s not a gay thing. It’s a boy thing. A boy thing that is not gay,” he clarified to the corpse of his dead son and the corpse of his dead son’s would be first-gay-hookup.

“It seems gay to me,” Sam, the astute twelve year old said, appearing out of nowhere.

“Son, it’s time you learned that kneecaps are a privilege and not a right.”

“That's not what I learned in law school,” Sam from the future said as he appeared suddenly in the doorway.

“You went to law school?” John asked. “Yeah.” “Gross. Laws are for gay people. Us heterosexuals just commit crimes.”

“That's what you think,” future Sam said as he scattered like dust in the wind, just like the Kansas song.

“Wow, that was dramatic.” the younger version of Sam said. “Yeah…. dramatic in a kinda gay way,” John said suspiciously.

“I guess so,” Sam said, clearly oblivious and daydreaming of college, which is mostly filled with liberals and gays and gay liberals.

“Rat smasher,” John said. “What?” Charlie Kelly appeared in the doorway as well, which seemed to be some sort of portal apparently, and smashed the young version of Sam with a bat.

“Rat smashed,” Charlie nodded solemnly at John.

“Rat smashed,” John nodded back as Charlie bashed himself with the bat.

“Rats all smashed,” John said to the room filled with nothing but corpses. “Guess its time to avenge my dead wife among heterosexual things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.
> 
> I don't know either. Sleep deprivation is one hell of a drug, I guess. I don't even remember writing this, all I know is that I was trying to write some sort of angst fic where a teenaged Dean gets caught hooking up with a boy by John, who was then supposed to be a homophobic P.O.S. Instead, in a frustrated, manic, and Diet-Coke fueled burst of energy I wrote several "episodes" of what is now 'John Winchester Doing Heterosexual Things'.
> 
> Sorry, but there's more to come.


	2. Genetics & Psychology

“Hi, I’m John Winchester and I’m your heterosexual host. This is my ghost son, who is also a heterosexual because when I killed him I also killed the gay part of him, and everybody knows that gays can't be ghosts.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” said the ghost of twelve-year-old Sam, who was very smart, but not gay because he didn’t grow up to go to a college that was infested by gays, liberals, and gay liberals.

“That’s how it works,” John said loudly.

“I don’t think s-”

“THAT’S HOW IT WORKS,” John said even louder and ever more heterosexually. “I have two ghosts sons and they’re both not gay. They were never gay, in fact.”

“You killed me because I was making out with a dude,” Dean’s ghost said.

“You were mistaken, that boy was blonde, so it’s not your fault you thought he was a girl. Only girls are blondes.” John said, “and girls are okay but only for sex, if they try to share their emotions with you, run because emotions are for liberals, gays and gay liberals.”

“I don’t think you understand genetics or psychology,” Sam said.

“I don’t think you understand that I will force-feed you your own teeth,” John said while flashing a large grin that contained teeth that were clearly not his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Absolutely stunning. So many twists and turns. Really makes you think, 'straight pride.'" - Isabel (the O.G. Rat Smasher and the poor sucker who had to try to enforce grammar rules on this bitch)
> 
> "Why can't I ever read the things you write?" - Mom
> 
> "Hey, what the actual, genuine, fuck?" - Hannah
> 
> "I hate everything about this." - Everyone who read this


	3. Sabriel v.s. Samifer

“Hi, I’m John Winchester and I’m still very heterosexual. I have two sons who are also very heterosexual.”

“I deepthroated an archangel last night,” said Sam from the future, who for some reason was not dead because of alternate timelines or whatever. I don’t know, I stopped watching the show a long time ago. “You can decide whether or not you think it was Gabriel or Lucifer.”

John threw his head back and let out a primal scream that caused blood to leak from future Sam’s ear. The noise was so horrid it caused future Sam to have an aneurysm and fall to the floor, dead as his dreams of being a lawyer.

“I’m not saying it’s wrong to have sex with Satan or anything,” John said, “but you can only have sex with Satan if the Beast is occupying a form which is the opposite gender.”

“Ah,” said the ghost of future Sam. “I guess you’re more fond of Samifer than you are of Sabriel. I wonder how you live with yourself.”

John threw salt at the ghost of the future version of his youngest son, “Can’t do homosexual things when you’re a ghost,” he said brightly.

“That’s what you think,” the ghost of Charlie said smugly.

“I don’t know who you are,” John said, walking to the doorway of the motel, “and I don’t care enough to get to know you.” He firmly shut the door, as any heterosexual man would do, and walked away from the corpse-filled horror show that was Motel 8.

“Wow,” said the cleaning lady. “I was always a Sabriel fan,” she said as she began to dispose of the bodies into the Motel 8 Body Disposal Chamber (as is standard for the motel chain).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas; your gift from me is this steaming pile of dog shit. 
> 
> Enjoy.


	4. Breakfast

“Hello,” said John Winchester as he ate his cereal straight off of the floor. The milk had spread across the shag carpet and had begun to seep into John’s jeans.

“We have bowls,” said the ghost of his dead, not gay son, Dean. Dean’s ghost hands reached for the plastic bowls that were sitting on the counter but his ghosts hands went straight through them.

”Wow, thank you for the hourly reminder that I’ve sired a useless and terrible child,” John said, slurping up the floor milk like a hoover vacuum. His teeth sounded eerily like wind chimes as he sucked the milk and various other bodily fluids out of the carpet. “Not only did your useless, stupid, little ghost hands not even touch the bowls, you tried to use a bowl like some sort of city-slicker homosexual.

“Dad you’ve never lived in the country,” the ghost of his son, Sam said. This was the ghost of twelve year old Sam, by the way, not the ghost of future, alternate Sam.

“The country is always in a heterosexual man’s heart,” John said. “Just like cholesterol.”

“I think the floor had blood stains on it,” Sam said.

“Extra protein,” John said.

“My hands aren’t small,” Dean said.

“I would say that I am not heterosexual, since we are saying things that are not true, but I am clearly such a Prime Heterosexual that my body does not even allow me to joke about being a Homosexual. If I were to even try, my teeth would simply bite off my tongue, and then I would choke to death.”

“Those aren’t your teeth,” Sam said suspiciously.

“There are in my possession, therefore they are my teeth,” John said, finishing his cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if I’ll ever regret publishing this on the internet.
> 
> Probably.


	5. Ghost Laws

“I’m really confused about the abilities and limitations of ghosts right now,” said the ghost of twelve-year-old Sam.

“Yeah, we didn’t really go over ghost laws in law school, where I was studying to be a lawyer so that I could practice law,” said the ghost of 30-something-year-old Sam.

“You never got over not being a lawyer, huh?” Twelve-year-old Sam asked.

“Life is a courtroom and I am the judge, jury, and executioner.” 30-something-year-old Sam.

“I think you’re just a ghost,” said John Winchester, who was carrying a large bag of salt. “And ghosts can’t practice laws, because law-abiding citizens are gay, and ghosts can’t be gay.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that,” Dean said, flipping through a Life magazine. John dumped the entire 20-pound bag of salt onto the ghost of his son.

“Life magazines are for homosexuals,” he said to the 20-pound pile of salt on the floor.

“I think that was the point,” the ghosts of Sam replied together.

“I think I will sleep on this pile of salt,” said John who was already laying face down in the pile of salt. “I won’t use a blanket or a pillow, because I am too heterosexual to seek out basic comforts. Instead, I will subjugate myself to breathing salt instead of oxygen.”

“I think you might die,” spoke the ghosts of Sam.

“I am too heterosexual for death,” John mumbled, his voice muffled by the grains of salt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching videos about "My Immortal" the other day and I cried knowing I'd never be able to create something that iconic.


	6. This One is the Sixth Chapter

“Today, I am looking for more of my teeth,” John said.

“I think you have enough,” said all of the ghosts in the room.

“I think that is false,” said John to the ghost of his heterosexual son Dean, the ghost of his heterosexual twelve-year son old Sam, and the ghost of his heterosexual 30-something-year-old son Sam.

“You don’t even have any of your own teeth anymore,” the ghost of 30-something-year-old Sam cringed.

“I have said it before and I will say it many more times, I am sure,” John began with a smile that was much too large and filled with far too many teeth, “but if a tooth is in my possession, it is my tooth.”

“Possession is 9/10ths of the law,” Dean nodded sagely as he applied glittery pink eyeliner.

“THAT IS NOT THE LAW!” Both ghosts of Sam screamed loud enough to shatter any windows and eardrums within a 60-mile radius.

“My eardrums are fine,” John said as blood leaked from his ears, “I am too heterosexual for physical ailments.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Dean.

“Yes, I am a good father, and I’m while I’m too heterosexual to say that I am glad, it’s about time you finally said that you were a failure as a son,” John nodded in the general direction of Dean. He picked up a knife, a ping pong ball, and a few rubber bands.

“Now,” he said, walking to the door, “about my teeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeehaw, I'm going to get wasted tonight. We'll see if I write another episode while drunk. For your sake, you'd better hope not.


	7. Hesy-Re

“Ya’ know, I don’t ever remember Dad being this messed up before,” Dean said to the ghosts of his brother. 

Twelve-year-old Sam’s ghost nodded, and 30 something-year-old Sam’s ghost began to speak, “did we ever, uh, do anything to confirm that,  _ he’s,”  _ Sam gestured to John, who was staring intensely at a painting of Hesy-Re, who historians credit being the first dentist, “Dad? I mean, with all the shapeshifters, demons, leviathans-,”

“What?” said the ghost of 12-year-old Sam.

“You’ll have to wait until season seven for those,” 30-year-old Sam’s ghost said. 

“Can we even get to season seven?” asked twelve-year-old Sam’s ghost. “I mean, can we even get to season one? Dean and I are dead.” 

“It’s not the first time we’ve died,” 30-year-old Sam shrugged. “We’ll just wait for Castiel to resurrect us, I guess.” 

“Who’s Castiel?” Dean asked. 

“He’s a friend of ours, an angel.” 30-year-old Sam said. 

“You’re friends with an angel? Really?” twelve-year-old Sam asked. 

“Yeah, he was really weird at first, but now we’ve just sort of gotten used to it. He joins us for family game nights. 

“Family game night with an angel?” Dean scoffed, trying to snoop through John’s bag. It was completely empty except for a single tube of Colgate toothpaste. 

“Yeah, usually there are more than one. The son of Lucifer is there too, and God’s even dropped by a few times. That got awkward.” 

The younger versions of Sam and Dean’s ghosts looked like they were about to go ham on what the ghost of 30-year-old Sam had just said when there was a sickening crunch from the other side of the room. John, who up until now had been silently staring and occasionally running his finger along the painting of Hesy-Re had unhinged his jaw and was slowly shoving the painting, frame and all, into his mouth. It was unclear whether the crunching noise was coming from John’s jaw, teeth, or the painting itself as it was devoured. 

“Yeah…..I’m pretty sure that isn’t Dad,” Dean said eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, your least favorite and very unknown author is back. I'm stuck in quarantine with my family right now (reality is becoming weirder than anything I could write at this point,) and I'm getting PTSD flashbacks to when I read "The Yellow Wallpaper" in 10th grade. I don't think there's ever been a better time to write something completely unhinged. 
> 
> Also, isn't that a neat fact about Hesy-Re? The first-ever recorded dentist Hesy-Re, also called Hesyre, was an official of the High Court of Egypt. He served under the reign of Pharoh Djoser, around 2650 bc. In addition to being the first dentist, he was also the first physician! 
> 
> Now you can say you learned something from this godawful piece of word vomit. What does that say about you?


	8. Baggage Claim & the TSA

“Since when do we take planes to get across the country?” Dean’s ghost cried out frantically, “we’ve got a car for a reason!”

“Why are you afraid to fly now? You’re already dead,” the ghost of thirty-something-year old Sam said, as he watched John attempt to get his duffle bag through security. It had previously only contained a single tube of toothpaste, but now held several jars of teeth, collected from different individuals with varying degrees of consent. 

“I must board an airplane,” said John to the clearly distressed TSA agents. 

“Sir, where did you get these teeth?” One of the agents pressed.

“I must board an airplane with all of my teeth,” John said. 

“These are clearly not your own teet-”

“THEY ARE IN MY POSSESSION THEREFORE THEY ARE MY TEETH AND I SHALL DO WHAT I PLEASE WITH THEM!” John shrieked, pulling the bag out of the hands of an agent, inadvertently scattering hundreds of teeth onto the linoleum flooring. 

“Listen, man, this is why I don’t fucking like airports!” Dean shouted, trying to give Sam an unfriendly, brotherly shove, but his dumb little ghost hands just when through Sam’s large ghost chest. Both of the Sams sighed. 

“Dean, I really don’t think this is a common occurrence for most airports,” the ghost of twelve-year-old Sam shook his head.

“You don’t know that,” Dean snapped. “You don’t know what goes on in airports,” he turned back to look at the chaos unfolding. John had somehow gathered up all of “his” teeth, filling his pockets with some and shoving the rest of them back into the bag. 

“Sir, you’re getting awfully defensive over some teeth,”

“Thatsbecausethey’remyteethandyoucan’thavethem!” John hissed.

“They don’t seem like they belong to you,” several more agents approached John from behind, all with their guns drawn. 

“Yours look like they won’t belong to you much longer,” John lunged at the poor agent, aiming directly for those sweet, sweet, coffee-stained teeth. Gunshots echoed in the large airport, but in the end, it didn’t matter.  _ Nothing _ could stand in the way of John Winchester and teeth. 

“I don’t think Dad’s going to make his flight,” sighed twelve-year-old Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe Exotic: "The first thing is: I am not cutting my hair. I am not changing the way I dress. I refuse to wear a suit. I am gay, I have had two boyfriends most of my life. I've had some kinky sex. I've tried drugs. I'm broke as shit, I have a judgment against me from some bitch down in Florida. I paid the fine with the USJ...that does not mean I was convicted of any kind of animal cruelty thing. I have one of the biggest facilities for exotic animals in the country as far as private individuals go. I am Joe Exotic, and now don't forget, I am now stepping my foot into the ring to run for President." 
> 
> Me: ✌️😔✌️


	9. PEMDAS

“Skydiving?” 

“Heterosexually approved.”

“Expressing any emotion?”

“Heterosexually disproved.”

“Soup”

“Heterosexually disproved.”

“Meat?”

“Heterosexually approved.”

“Sa-”

“Wait, wait, wait, can we go back a second?” The dumb ghost of Dean cried out, “can we go back to the soup thing? How come soup isn’t heterosexually approved?”

“Only women and homosexuals consume liquid.” John said sagely, “there is no need for a prime heterosexual such as myself to consume anything that does not challenge the teeth.” 

“It always goes back to the teeth.” Sam snapped. It didn’t matter which version of the ghost spoke, they both carried the same whiney little brother bullshit tone in their voice. 

It always goes back to the teeth,” the ghost of however old (the author can’t remember how old Dean was when he died in this story because it’s been so long since they wrote the damn thing and they don’t give enough of a shit to look and see how old he was) Dean mocked. 

“It does!” said the ghost of Sam. “It always goes back to teeth and I just think that's an interesting narrative choice.”

“You sound like a pretentious English major,” said John, frowning, “and anyone who goes to college is homosexual and anyone who is an English major is homosexual.”

“Does that cancel out like PEMDAS?” 

“Math is heterosexually approved.”

“Okay why the FUCK is math heterosexually approved but SOUP isn’t?” the ghost of Dean said despondently. 

“A man must be able to PEMDAS his teeth,” John said wisely.

“I don’t think PEMDAS can be used as a verb,” said Sam 

“Grammar is heterosexually disproved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every once in a while I remember that I wrote this story and then I think I deserve every bad thing that has happened in my life. I think this chapter sucks even more than the others (which is almost impressive in a very sad kind of way). I probably shouldn't write anything after smoking weed because right before this I wrote a short story where my friend Isabel went to Hogwarts and committed war crimes. I'm not going to apologize for the decline in quality though, I mean, did you see the finale?


	10. A Party City Wig

“Do you remember that era of fanfiction, before A03 had really taken off, where the author would often write themselves interacting with the characters in a footnote at the end?” asked the author. 

There was a noisy clamor as all three ghosts startled at the voice and began to demand things like “who are you?” and “how did you get in here” “and what the fuck?!” John sat quietly in the corner, pouring a zip-lock bag of teeth into a glass jar. He was trying to be eco-friendly. 

“Obviously I’m the author,” said the author obviously, “I’m not a very good one, though.”

“Yeah,” the ghost of Dean scoffed, “we figured that out a while ago.” 

“Rude,” said the author, though they didn’t seem to disagree all that much. 

“This whole thing is kind of confusing,” the older ghost of Sam began, “I mean, to begin with, you’re very repetitive when you write. You tend to use simplistic language and use the same phrases over and over again, and I think it’s supposed to come off as a stylistic choice, but really it just drags on. Also, this whole story is bullshit, and you keep teasing at what John could or could not be, but I don’t think you have a clue yourself. And finally, the obsession with teeth has got to come from somewhere, like, that can’t just live in your head for no reason. Something had to have happened in your childhood.”

“Okay wow, I was going for early 2010s nostalgia, not a half-assed psych profile from a college drop-out.” 

“Didn’t you drop out of college?” the younger ghost of Sam questioned. 

“Yeah, but I went back so it doesn’t count,” the author waved the accusation away. 

Both Sams made a noise of disagreement, but before they could open their whiney mouths, Dean began to speak. “Do you even have a plan for this story? I mean is there any sort of plot at all? Or do you just write this when you’re alone and bored on a Saturday night?”

“Alright, listen here, you have NO RIGHT to question my plotline after that bullshit the real show aired. I mean seriously? What’s a more compelling storyline? Dean is murdered by his own father, or Dean is murdered by tetanus? And then you didn’t even reunite with Cas in heaven. The least they could’ve given us was an awkward kiss between two heterosexual actors trying to portray queer characters,” the author scoffed.

“That does sound like the bare minimum,” said Sam, who was wearing a party city wig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally, the only rule that I have when I write this is that each chapter has to fit onto a single page of the google doc. That's it. That's the only rule.


	11. Trenchcoats Are Inherently Gay

“My collection is incomplete,” said John. He was standing in a basement, which had been filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of jars of teeth. “There are more teeth to be found.”

“So is there, like, an end goal here? Like you’ll get a certain amount of teeth and then stop?” asked the ghost of thirty-something-year-old Sam. 

“My next step is to collect the teeth of an angel,” said John, ignoring Sam’s questions. 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say this leads to whoever that Cas guy is,” sighed Dean. 

“Hello, Dean,” said Cas, predictably. 

“Oh no, he’s hot,” Dean winced so hard he fell over a stack of jarred teeth and fell directly onto a rusty nail. “Good thing I’m a ghost and that has no effect on me whatsoever.” 

“Only homosexuals get nailed,” John pulled his pliers out of his pocket and continued to stare at Cas. He paused as if to debate whether or not it was worth adding a homosexual’s teeth to his collection. He did want an angel, but much like the CW, he didn’t want a gay angel.

Cas gazed longingly at Dean. Dean did his best to return the longing gaze, but it was hard to look romantic when you were struggling to lift yourself off a nail. It was okay though, Cas had the standards of a straight white girl from the midwest. He’d be willing to settle. 

“I’m really uncomfortable with the tension in this room,” said the ghost of 12-year-old Sam.

“I’m really uncomfortable with the number of teeth in this room,” Cas responded. 

“Strangely enough, you get used to it,” the ghost of thirty-something-year-old Sam said. 

“It doesn’t carry the same amount of shock value anymore,” Dean agreed, still stuck on the nail. 

John advanced on Cas with his trusty pliers, “my purpose is not driven by shock value.” 

“What is your purpose?” Cas asked, head tilting to the side in curiosity. And while the motion was cute, it only served to give John better access. 

John said nothing, choosing to just smile in response. The grin grew larger and larger until it seemed like his face had literally split in half, rows and rows of mix-matched teeth sprouted from his skull. With each step he took towards Cas, his smile grew. It kept growing until there was nothing left except hundreds of teeth, and two beady little eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted three chapters in ONE NIGHT after not touching it for MONTHS. None of them have been proof-read before they were posted. I have no idea what is going on. Whenever I write for this dumb story I immediately forget whatever bullshit I typed. It's like a spirit possesses me and I have to get it all out as fast as possible. I watched tiktoks for seven hours today until my brain turned to mush and now I'm making the world see the consequences.


End file.
